Written for the second round of the Speed of Lightning Competition at the Harry Potter Fanfiction Challenges forum. The genre of this one-shot had to be Angst.
To be honest, I've never written Angst, which means that this fanfic is probably an epic fail. I fail at sad stuff, which is why I couldn't help adding some Hurt/Comfort too ^^'
Disclaimer: I own nothing, sadly.
Happy reading! Reviews are appreciated!
Her Children
Silence.
It was all eerily still. Not a sound, not a whisper, not a swish of a cloak. Just silence.
Minerva McGonagall walked down the halls of Hogwarts Castle, her footsteps echoing loudly, her hand clutching her wand so tightly her knuckles had turned white. She kept her eyes fixed on the doors that led to the Great Hall, not daring to look around her. Too afraid to look, because... because...
The children.
Oh, the children.
She feared the moment when her eyes would inevitably see them. Broken bodies, covered in blood, sprawled across the floor of the castle that had once been a safe home, but had now turned into a battlefield.
Her children.
She may not have been their mother, but, to her, they were all her children. She had guided them, taught them all she knew, been their friend, their confidant... She was proud of each and every single one of them, regardless of their House or magical ability.
But most of them were gone. Dead.
Bracing herself, she walked into the Great Hall, not being able to repress a wince at the sight before her. Sobs, moans, wails of pain and grief, parents crying over their dead sons, siblings trying to comfort each other... It was all too much to take in. Minerva couldn't breathe. She felt empty. Horrified. Guilty.
Because she let them stay and fight in a useless battle that was part of a seemingly endless war.
And they were all dead now.
"So many..." she whispered, her voice cracking.
She began walking, unable to bear that crushing sense of guilt, not wanting to cry. She tried to ignore the screams of pain and the heartbroken sobs, coming to a stop next to Poppy Pomfrey.
"Ah, there you are, Minerva," said the matron, who was bandaging the arm of an unconscious Hufflepuff student.
"Were you looking for me?" asked the Professor, cleaning the blood from the Hufflepuff's face with one flick of her wand. She recognized her as Susan Bones.
"Yes, I thought you'd want to know..." Poppy trailed off, taking a deep breath. "I thought you'd want to know the number of... casualties."
Minerva pursed her lips. "Yes, I do," she said, trying to keep her voice from shaking.
"We've lost Nigel Wolpert, Colin Creevey, Anthony Goldstein..."
Each name was like a blow. A painful, agonizing blow that, deep down, Minerva knew she deserved.
Nigel. Overly enthusiastic, easy-going and always willing to help out others, which had cost him his life.
Colin, the excitable Gryffindor with a heart of gold and an unwavering faith in everyone. He looked so peaceful in his death.
Anthony. He had never been a boy of many words, because he didn't need them. His silence had given strength and support to those who needed it. Now he would be silent forever.
Minerva's eyes filled with tears as her gaze wandered along the row of war victims, recognizing every single face and silently mourning every loss. Heidi Macavoy, the Hufflepuff girl who became a Chaser in her second year; Marcus Belby, the shy Ravenclaw boy with an incredible talent for Transfiguration... Her heart nearly stopped when she saw Remus and Tonks, hand in hand, looking almost as if they were asleep. Fred Weasley, still smiling even when there was no spark of life in his eyes. A small part of her wanted to believe that this wasn't happening, that it was all a bad dream...
"PARVATI! PARVATI, NO!"
Minerva looked up to see one of the Patil twins run towards the entrance to the Hall. Her heart gave a painful tug as she saw Wood and Longbottom carry a body whose dark skin and hair could only belong to...
"PARVATI!" Padma Patil's scream of despair seemed to echo in the hall as she collapsed on the floor next to her sister, sobbing.
And that was when Minerva McGonagall swore that she would win that war.
Her students, her colleagues, her friends...
She believed in all of them.
"Pomona, give me a hand, will you?" she said, her voice sounding stronger, determined.
Pomona Sprout nodded and watched as her best friend waved her wand, a bouquet of white irises appearing in her hands. Slowly, Minerva began placing one flower next to every fallen fighter, its pure white petals almost glowing in contrast to the dark red blood.
And Pomona understood.
Irises, the symbol of faith.
Because Minerva McGonagall believed in all of them.